Not Enough
by Copycat
Summary: Sequel to "Too Much To Drink?". Nikki's drunken post-kiss musings.


TITLE: Not Enough  
AUTHOR: Copycat (Lizzy)  
RATING: T  
CLASSIFICATION: Nikki/Harry, Friendship, Romance  
SPOILERS: Nothing too specific, but anything through series 12 is fair game.  
SUMMARY: Sequel to _Too Much To Drink?_. Nikki's drunken post-kiss musings.  
DISCLAIMER: The BBC owns everything you recognise. And probably some things you don't.

I think maybe I shouldn't be allowed to watch anything with Emilia Fox in it besides _Silent Witness_ until after I've written a story where Nikki is actually in character. Although, I have to say I kind of like Drunk!Nikki. I think we would get on really well.

* * *

The door clicked shut behind her and she leaned against it, breathing heavily.

She had kissed him.

She had actually kissed him.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Why the _hell_ had she done that?

Oh, right, she was drunk.

Also, now the room was spinning, which was probably from the drinking not the kissing.

She stumbled to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess of fragments of the day. She didn't seem to be able to hang on to any one of them long enough to process it properly.

She took a sip of water and then decided that would just have to cover her rehydration. There was no way she could fit any more liquid in her body.

Looking through her fridge she decided that yes, she could manage making buttered toast without burning down the building. Scrambled eggs or bacon, while infinitely more tempting, would be too much of a gamble, however.

The trick, she knew, was to toast the bread _before_ buttering it.

Also, she had just kissed Harry.

That hadn't been a trick, she had actually done it.

On a scale from having meaningless sex with an obnoxious paediatric surgeon to going home alone that was either really good, or really bad. Depending on whether or not the world ended before Monday morning.

She dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, wiggling them around a bit to fit them in the too-small crevices. Pressing down the lever she watched the bread disappear.

Was she drunk enough that she could just blame the kiss on the alcohol? Would he accept that excuse?

She tried to remember what they had talked about in the car. At the time she had felt like she was doing pretty well with the whole 'having a coherent conversation' bit, but maybe she had come off as pretty inebriated.

Oh, how she hoped she had.

What had she been saying? Oh, right. Something about Brian Monahan dumping her for Andrea's dimples.

Harry hadn't seemed interested in Andrea at all.

She smiled at the memory of his complete lack of interest in someone other than herself and then jumped in shock as the bread, now warm and toasted, popped up.

He had laughed about the Ex-Lax.

Poor Brian. He hadn't laughed at all.

She buttered the toast, giggling to herself when the butter missed the toast and got spread on the counter instead.

She hadn't missed Harry's mouth when she had kissed him. Her aim had been pretty good, just then.

She had been holding on to him, though, which probably helped.

She grabbed the piece of toast with the hand that wasn't holding the knife and tried the buttering again.

Success!

What else? Oh. The fight.

Harry had wanted to apologise. He never apologised for anything. Come to think of it, _technically_ he hadn't apologised about the fight, either. But then, he wasn't really the one who should be apologising.

He had been right, after all.

She had been flirting with DI Marlowe. Openly and blatantly and right in Harry's face.

She took a bite of toast and sighed contentedly.

Or, well, maybe he should be apologising, but not to her. Because there was no call for him to rip into Andrew the way he had done. The DI had really only been flirting _back_, he hadn't been hitting on her at all before she made it very clear indeed that she wouldn't mind if he did.

And even if he had, it wasn't any of Harry's business. She was perfectly capable of dealing with lewd cops on her own.

She took another bite and then a third one before she had swallowed the second. Her mouth felt uncomfortably full. That wasn't right. She chewed carefully, then swallowed, and attempted another bite.

Andrew had got out of there pretty quickly after Harry's lecture. He had completely put him off.

Which was a shame, because he really _was_ quite fanciable.

Had Harry thought so, too?

She laughed, not caring how loud the sound was in her empty flat.

She was fairly sure he didn't, although it would explain a few things.

Like how he hadn't paid any notice to how nice she had looked today. In fact, he had barely looked at her at all until she had told him he was being an idiot and to stop embarrassing himself.

He had looked pretty straight at her when he had told her he wasn't the one embarrassing himself.

She finished off the first piece of toast and looked at the second in disgust. "Well, he's right about that, isn't he?" She asked it.

When it didn't answer, she took a large bite of it.

There was no point waiting for it to disagree with her, she knew it was true.

_She_ had kissed _him_, after all.

Why had she done that, when only hours before he had made it perfectly clear that he had absolutely no interest in her at all?

She knew why, of course.

It was because she had wanted to. And she had been just drunk enough to do it, but not drunk enough for it not to mean anything.

Why did he have to suddenly be nice again, anyway?

Why couldn't he have stayed a bastard? It was so much easier to tell herself it was wrong to be in love with him when he was a bastard.

She groaned.

Why did alcohol make her so honest? And with herself, too.

She could get through days, weeks even, sometimes, without thinking about her feelings for Harry. She had sealed off that part of her brain pretty well.

And now here she was, kissing him and telling herself she was in love with him.

At least she hadn't told _him_ that. At least she had only kissed him. She hadn't asked him in or anything.

Oh, wow.

_That_ could've been all sorts of fun, she thought sarcastically.

Him pushing her away, telling her she was drunk and didn't know what she was saying. Her, telling him she knew exactly what she was saying (which she would have done).

It would have been a whole new level of humiliation and rejection.

She took another bite of toast and realised that it had gone soggy and unappealing.

Why couldn't Harry be soggy and unappealing?

Trying to picture Harry's face on the half-eaten piece of toast she threw it into the bin and went to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

She looked at herself in the mirror and then instantly regretted it. Her mascara was smudged, her hair was a mess and her clothes looked like she had already slept in them.

Small wonder that Harry hadn't jumped at the chance to snog her when she looked this attractive.

She began brushing her teeth roughly, taking out her frustrations on her defenceless gums.

It had only been payback, really, anyway. Kissing him.

He had kissed her once, after all. Completely out of the blue. So now she had kissed him, too. That just made them even, it didn't make her pathetic.

Actually, she was pretty sure that was what she had been thinking when she leaned up to kiss him. That and, "But sometimes he does look at me as if he cares. Like right now..."

And he did. She was sure of it.

He _looked_ as if he cared. But maybe all he cared about was her humiliating herself. Because he was her friend and he didn't want her to feel bad.

So he hadn't done anything when she had kissed him. He had just let her.

He didn't care enough to mind.

She spat out a mouthful of bloody foam and rinsed. Her teeth still felt dirty.

She went to work with the make-up remover.

He hadn't minded. Did that mean he wouldn't mind if she kissed him again? Was she allowed to just kiss him whenever she felt like it, and he wouldn't stop her?

She caught her reflection in the mirror grinning stupidly at the idea and rolled her eyes at it. It did the same at her.

She licked her lips, pretending she could still taste Harry on them, underneath the toothpaste.

He had just stood there, not moving at all, his hands stuck between their bodies, his knuckles pressed into her abdomen.

He hadn't kissed her back.

But he also hadn't moved away. Not even an inch, in surprise.

If he had been dead set against her kissing him, surely he would have moved away. It would've been instinctual.

And it wasn't as if she just sprang it on him, the way he had done to her. She was pretty sure there had been fair warning of her intentions to kiss him.

So was it that he really didn't care, and he was just indulging her drunken whim, or had he actually liked it?

Was this something that would come up in future conversations, or would they just pretend it had never happened?

Could she maybe just quit and go to America and never have to see him again?

She winced as a bit of make-up remover got in her eye and she started tearing up.

No. There was no need to be this dramatic about it. Monday morning would be awkward for the first five minutes and then he would make some joke about alcohol and internal organs, probably, and that would be it.

He wouldn't mention the kissing. Because mentioning the kissing meant talking about feelings, and he would be much too scared of that to even tease her about it.

Oh, that was so unfair. She was supposed to be too drunk to care about anything and now here she was feeling terrible because she had kissed Harry and she was even crying. Because she had lotion in her eye.

This was all Harry's fault. She wouldn't have got this drunk in the first place if it hadn't been for him. If he hadn't been so mean and uninterested in her she wouldn't have _needed_ to get drunk.

And she wouldn't have had to kiss him, either.

Her eye had stopped stinging, finally, and she decided this was quite enough personal hygiene for someone with her blood alcohol level.

It was _all_ Harry's fault, she repeated to herself, taking some comfort in the conclusion. And now she was going to bed, and maybe she would wake up tomorrow and realise she had no memory of what had happened.

She fell onto her bed, not bothering to get out of her clothes.

Just before drifting off to sleep she heard an annoying voice inside her head, the one that always spoke in Leo's voice, asking her if kissing Harry was really something she _wanted_ to forget?

End.


End file.
